


Spider's Wheel

by yogurtgun



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:57:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8158076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yogurtgun/pseuds/yogurtgun
Summary: “The Fel.” Says the mage, standing right in front of him as if suddenly wished into existence. He stands there, barely out of his boyhood, Anduin thinks despairingly - why he’d thought otherwise he doesn’t know - daemonless and unperturbed by the audience or the attention. Anduin’s awareness shrinks down to the whole of him and his tousled brown hair and travel clothes and old, soft looking cape. For a moment he’s captivated. Then the mage moves to speak, but Callan stops him, and that’s when Anduin notices his son standing next to the mage for the first time. Taria must have requested him, that's the only reason why he should not be in the barracks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot express more thanks to the wonderful Eria for betaing this. (eriakit-gone-wow-ld.tumblr.com)

The doors of the Lion’s Pride inn bang open. It’s not the first time it has happened, and Anduin watches as more soldiers seep in, tired and blood splattered. The Lieutenants immediately come to Llane, who still towers over his table trying to understand the recent attacks, and report their findings. There’s nothing certain for them to know, not truly. They are blind. 

Beside him, Llane’s daemon flaps her great wings twice, as if wanting to adjust them, though it looks more as if she’s expressing the irritation Llane cannot. It’s something he recognizes in his own daemon. She settles down quickly, diligently following what Llane is saying and feeling, her white belly touching the decorative ears of Llane’s forgotten chair. To this day, Anduin has yet to see a bigger eagle than her.

Anduin had arrived with the last rays of sunlight, well ahead of the procession with the mage; perhaps the only one who could give them answers. He thinks that if a criminal is their only option, they’re not really doing their job or they haven’t been paying close attention. The Guardian would have, it is his duty; Anduin understands the rationality in the mage’s demands.

Llane had been with another group of soldiers, and Viridia had noticed him first, her sudden awareness shifting Llane’s own. The similarity on the shades of her wings and Llane’s eyes never fails to surprise him, though it should be impossible to quite replicate the brown.

Anduin feels his separation from Meera like an irritated blister. Her gryffon bulk doesn’t allow her access to most places and she had to stay outside, and though Anduin’s had his whole life to adjust to it, it never gets easier. It puts him in a worse mood than he’s already in. He’d overreacted for the same reason when handling the mage in the barracks.. But he had been in pain, and had just heard someone had tried to deface the bodies of his soldiers. He wonders how the mage’s daemon hadn’t mauled him. 

With a sinking feeling in his gut that turns into something heavy, he realizes he hasn’t seen a daemon anywhere near the man. 

“Brother.” He hears and turns to see Taria standing on the last step of the stairs. Beneath her, almost enveloped by her skirts, Qadir’s black head peeks out in the regal way the ibis always handles himself. 

She looks pleased to see him, and she smiles, hands going wide to embrace him and kiss his cheek. “I thought I wouldn’t see you for another fortnight.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” He says, and he thinks of the time she would have smacked him. Instead she huffs and glides to the side of the table, looking at what the newest batch of soldiers has brought in.

He hears the doors bang again. Llane, frustrated, demands, “How does a garrison of thirty men disappear without a word?”

The answer comes before Anduin can open his mouth with a sudden chill that has nothing to do with the context of it and everything with whom is speaking. He feels Meera outside, for a moment, and her emotions turbulent and strong.

“The Fel.” Says the mage, standing right in front of him as if suddenly wished into existence. 

He stands there, barely out of his boyhood, Anduin thinks despairingly - why he’d thought otherwise he doesn’t know - daemonless and unperturbed by the audience or the attention. Anduin’s awareness shrinks down to the whole of him and his tousled brown hair and travel clothes and old, soft looking cape. For a moment he’s captivated. Then the mage moves to speak, but Callan stops him, and that’s when Anduin notices his son standing next to the mage for the first time. Taria must have requested him, that's the only reason why he should not be in the barracks. 

He moves and circles the mage, dismissing Callan in the process, irritated by his own reactions and amused by the mage at the same time. There’s a naive softness Anduin can see in the young man and his golden youth, and yet, one moment he fumbles with his word, and in the next, he’s decisive and his words feel true and it doesn’t matter if he’s eight or eighty.  
Anduin thinks maybe it’s because of Llane, he is king after all, but then once again, he blinks and the mage, Khadgar, turns to mumbling that means very little to Anduin, diminishing the effect. However much he wants to mock him, the insistence in his conviction with which he urges Llane to contact Medivh is nothing that can be mocked. 

It’s another demand, Anduin thinks, recalling the two previous times in the barracks and how he has the cheek; and how Anduin has yet to call him out on it, he doesn’t know. Maybe because it’s the seriousness in his voice or the fact that he, a Guardian Novitiate, asks for it.

Viridia watches the mage with an intense gaze, moving on her perch as if trying to look behind him. Qadir, in front of Taria, bends his neck until he flutters with his wings that make Viridia imitate him. 

They notice then what Anduin noticed only minutes ago. 

The talk of magics beyond any of their understanding and dark forces, daemonless mages and the necessity for Medivh’s intervention speak ill of the situation. Anduin doesn’t like it; doesn’t trust it until he has something palpable. He wishes, stupidly, that it’s all just a blundering mess, and the bandits have just gotten braver.  
Anduin thinks about threes and knows that he is wrong in his wishing. He wonders if it feels like this to know a storm is coming and feel the wind pick up. 

At least he knows that Medivh will clear up any of their doubts that they have, as the mage insists. Anduin looks at Llane and once more, Anduin chooses to trust the boy. If it turns out to be nothing all the better. At least then they will know that the mage is not quite all to himself and return him to his city.

Llane nods then and says, “Go freshen up, let me handle the soldiers first.”

The boy doesn’t looks disheartened as much as he looks closed off once he stands up straight. He glances at Taria before he bows to Llane and excuses himself. 

He turns and their eyes catch with the same intensity they’d held in the barracks. The mage is familiar now, though still a bemusing existence. Anduin thinks there’s nothing puzzling about the way he notices the mage’s long lashes or the curve of his jaw, the height of his cheekbones. 

There’s nothing naive about the way the mage stares back, though what he sees and if he likes it, Anduin doesn’t know because a moment later the mage is moving away with a hurried step.

-

Llane presents him with a ring and an unspoken order, and Anduin knows the matter is urgent. He will have to ride through the night to reach Medivh and his tower if he’s lucky. 

The air outside is fresh and crisp, and light winds move treetops to their will. Night has fallen long ago, and Anduin can’t see any other light sans the one of the inn behind him. 

He catches sight of Meera immediately, her grey body lit in orange glow from the windows. Anduin goes to her on instinct, the pain from the pulling lessening with every step. He catches sight of the mage uncomfortably close and at first, Anduin doesn’t recognize him. It’s not for long, his mind takes in the clothes and realizes it quicker than the start of his heart when he thinks about a stranger next to his daemon, but it’s enough for him to go cold all over. 

Meera feels his distress and, already standing, she rushes over to him leaving Khadgar in relative darkness. As she passes the mage she must brush against him because for a moment Anduin feels nothing but sparks coursing through his skin. Strangely, bewilderingly, no pain comes though he knows he should have been feeling it like a punch to the gut. 

It hadn’t stopped him before, he thinks, from flying someone on Meera but he had suffered immensely. He loathes letting anyone even touch her and he knows that he isn’t the only one protective over his daemon. 

Khadgar stares at him from the darkness, eyes two shining reflections, and for a moment Anduin wonders if the mage is who he says he is. 

Anduin feels Meera nuzzling his side, murmuring quietly how the mage is safe, that Anduin should not worry. 

“Take the boy with you.” Llane says, catching up to him and holding the doors for Taria. 

He doesn’t outright refuse as much as he feels his mood sour completely. He doesn’t trust this sudden usefulness. But, Meera insists in her pleading little voice that she’s had since he’d known her and he trusts Medivh and above all trusts Llane as his king. 

Sighing, Anduin slips onto Meera’s back. He looks at the mage then and, exasperated, says, “Get on then.”

A silent little, “oh”, falls from the mage’s lips and then he scurries over and very, very gently climbs behind him. His hands, when he puts them between Anduin’s tunic and jerkin to hold on, are warm, as is his chest when Anduin leans back after Meera’s great wings flap once and they kick off the ground. 

Somewhere between one white capped peak and the other Anduin realizes the mage has his cheek pressed to the back of his head, and it takes another mountain chain to pass underneath them for Anduin to realize he doesn’t mind. Meera, knowingly, chirrups as if she wants to say she was right. And she is correct. Anduin doesn’t feel the mage as much as he senses him with little bolts dancing across his skin that feel like stray kisses that Anduin finds invigorating.

There’s no sudden realization that should hit him any moment now, just softness against the cold night air.

-

The forest ambush isn’t wholly expected. It’s a good thing Anduin brings a whole squadron along with them though he knows that it doesn’t do a lick of good. More soldiers die than orc before Medivh undoes them with his magic and he knows that he will have to deliver the news personally. Somehow, it never gets easier.

He doesn’t have the time to linger with their bodies, doesn’t have the time for anything really but to run to the mage that stays stock still. He needs Medivh and his magic but the Guardian is long gone, according to the mage. 

“Just stay here.” He snaps at the mage, who looks confused and awkward. They have to finish their mission, have to make the lives spent worth something. 

For a moment, though he knows it’s irrational, he hates the mage. Good men and women died, veterans who knew how to handle their swords and fought more battles than the mage has years. He is the bell ringer and has brought all of this to them. 

“That’s unfair.” Meera says harshly, rushing through the woods in chase of their targets. 

“I know.” Anduin says and Meera, thankfully, drops it. 

He knows it’s not fair, the mage was just doing what he’d thought was right. Anduin knows he couldn’t have done anything for his men, the same way Anduin couldn’t rush in to help or heal or shield.  
He reminds himself that it’s what being a soldier means; to give his life in service to their king is the highest honor. 

He feels regret at his thoughts especially after he hears the mage and sees another orc trapped in his spell. It looks similar to what Medivh had done to him back in the tower, and Anduin wonders if it’s the first time he’d tried it.  
Irritably, the mage doesn’t look smug at all. He’d held a little satisfied grin on his face that Anduin had found fitting and ruiningly attractive, until they started riding back. He’d barely spoken afterwards, his eyes distant and glazed. 

When they’d returned Anduin had to present Garona to Llane and the mage had disappeared inside the keep. A guard had been there to escort him, and, it seems, either Llane or Medivh had decided to keep the mage on hand.  
After being twice right- he’s sensed the Fel and Anduin could hear him right before the attack had come- Anduin thinks it stupid to release the man. Whatever he was, or rather whoever, he had a keen sense and better instinct and Anduin wasn’t above thinking it was a sign that he’d been present when both occurred.

Anduin tries not to think how the mage could very well be younger than his son. He still doesn’t trust him, hasn’t seen him fight, simply doesn’t know if the mage can watch his back. He’d been burned before and he doesn’t wish for it to happen again. It’s even more irritating that Meera very much likes him.

She subtly touches him now, reminding him he’s in the throneroom trying to extract information and convince the captive to trust them. It’s not his forte and knows that his sister’s softer touch may sway the orc though it’s still too early to know for sure. 

Beside her slight built compared to the other orcs, Garona's other side of her heritage shows in the hyena that paces in her wake. It was the second thing that had caught his eye beside the mage and her. It was one of the only reasons why he thinks she will help them. He feels electricity crackle between them, her pride and her languid dismissal of his threats, and the simple way she believes in what she’s saying an attractive concoction. It’s a challenge, the way she stands up to him, and he finds himself smirking. 

He remembers Khadgar had had them both pressed into the tree and Anduin wonders if Garona’s daemon being restrained with magic had felt similar to the sensation of Khadgar touching his own.

While on the mission he’d forgotten about it but now, two days later while sitting in his room- Garona taking her time in deciding whether to help or not- he’s reminded that for all of his magic and humanity Khadgar is daemonless. It shouldn’t cause quite the shiver that the thought brings but he thinks about not having Meera and he finds it understandable. A portion of the mage’s soul is missing, or perhaps it was never there, and Anduin thinks of all the horrible things that may have caused it. 

He thinks it even more frightening if nothing had caused it at all.

Anduin doesn’t see the mage until Garona finally comes through and Llane has placed an order for him to go as well. She, as it turns out, is the one they needed. Anduin doubts they would have gotten anything out of the orc he’d caught. This time it’s only a small team with Karos and Varis, and they take little time to prepare for the trip. 

The armor provided for Garona is a good fit for her height and width, not too heavy for someone who isn’t a warrior. It’s easy to flirt with her and try and push her buttons, though if she understands it as such he doesn’t know. With the confidence she wears around her like a pendant, and the way she rebuffs him, it’s not difficult to be reminded of his wife. They both have enough steel in themselves for five of him. 

The mage refuses the offer to provide him with the same. Instead his light armor he’d come wrapped in is the only protection between himself and an orc blade or hammer, and it’s another annoyance on Anduin’s growing list of annoyances that the mage provides. 

He adds another one half-way through the day when he notices the mage with his nose in a book while decidedly not falling off of his horse. It’s easy to assume he’d been doing the same for the past few days. 

Anduin had tried picking on the mage, something that comes easily with the softness he always sees in him. He knows nothing of him after all, and if he struck somewhere it hurt he would know how to agitate him, perhaps even reveal a weakness. Above that, Anduin thinks, it’s because the mage holds onto himself as if he’s separate from the others, has some other mission in mind than the one he’d given them all.

He doesn’t expect the sudden surge of ego. Before, the mage had only ever rolled his eyes but now he rears his head and addresses Anduin with respect he must not feel. The mage corrects him as if Anduin has finally hit some kind of a soft spot that warrants a sharp remark and then his resolve falls apart with a blush after he’s realized he’d said it.  
Anduin isn’t ready for it, not for the soft abashed smile that starts on the mage’s - Khadgar’s - lips, nor for the way he nervously shuffles with the reins, nor is he ready when he notices the flush disappear underneath the mage’s tunic. 

Anduin remembers the first time he’d seen him, the way he’d thrown his book away and said, exasperated, “Finally.” Remembers the look in the inn and feels an explosive kind of attraction that wishes for nothing but for Anduin to pull the mage to him immediately and kiss him.

Meera hip-checks him and he remembers he has to move. 

Very quickly they assemble kindling and produce food, knowing that the light will last only for another handful of moments, and truly in no time at all they’re wrapped in darkness. Anduin settles himself after Garona hogs the make-shift cot and the blankets, Meera’s side proving a soft enough cushioning despite the discomfort of the armor. He considers taking it off but the pass they settled in isn’t safe enough for that and if they’re woken up by an attack he wishes to be ready. 

Khadgar sits on a log near the fire, his book lying forgotten, and it seems the man is lost in the flickering flames of the fire. It’s a similar wandering, glazed look as before though after a moment the mage rubs his face, seemingly tired. 

“Well,” Anduin says. “At least you’re not reading.”

The boy’s mouth twitches though it stays downturned, and when Anduin looks at him next he finds himself being observed. It’s not a glare or a frown but a curious, inspective gaze that feels almost as if the boy is judging him and once he turns, Anduin thinks he’s found lacking. The simple notion displeases him.

When Anduin comes back to himself from his musings Garona’s beating a red blush into the mage’s cheeks and Anduin finds himself laughing. He sees the honesty with which the mage replies, but it’s quick and awkward and boyish.  
Garona, at least, seems unperturbed by it. Anduin likes her frankness, though it quickly turns into something more serious. He doesn’t expect the way she tells her story, doesn’t think he would be brave enough to do it if it were himself. 

“They tried to separate us,” she adds, stroking her daemon that has curled up against her chest. “But then they realized it was impossible. He is still a sign, that I am not orc. Orcs don’t have soul-spirits.”

The hyena nuzzles against her hand.

Then, the mage surprises him. Anduin honestly doesn’t expect the mage to say anything but nod his head and perhaps say a few pacifying words. Instead, the he puts himself out there even though, Anduin can see, it’s difficult for him to find the proper words.  
He doesn’t have a family and he ran from the only stability he’d known in his life, and, Anduin tacks on as if he would ever forget, in the group of three there are only two daemons. 

Anduin doesn’t think how he would deal being separated from his family, doesn’t know what he would do without military, without being a soldier and without Meera.

“How old are you?” Garona asks softly, from her cot.

The mage looks startled for some reason, and says, “I am seventeen.”

Seventeen, Anduin thinks. Callan had turned of age five summer ago.  
He looks to Garona but her expression is hard to read. Perhaps that isn’t young for orcs. 

“Do not all humans have soul-spirits? Where is yours?” She asks shamelessly, doing something all of them wanted to do since they’d noticed. 

Very carefully, Anduin watches as Khadgar’s face shuts off, drawing in the same way it had after Llane had dismissed him. He’s not sure it’s the same mage he’d found in his barracks that he’s looking at now. It’s someone else, the same someone he’d found in the darkness talking to Meera. 

“Yes, all of our race have daemons, me included.” Khadgar says looking as if he’d just remembered something horrible. His face pales, Anduin thinks, though from where he’s perched he can’t be quite sure. 

When he looks as if he won’t continue Garona frowns and Anduin can’t stop himself from saying, “Forgive my ignorance, but I haven’t seen any daemon near you since I caught you.”

Strangely, Khadgar laughs. It’s not particularly loud or shrill; it sounds like a man fighting to keep himself together. “You couldn’t have commander,” the mage says then, looking at Anduin. “She is not here.”

Anduin frowns. The mage makes no sense and after a moment doesn’t give any more explanation. Anduin wants to ask, wants to insist, but when he sees Khadgar’s expression the need breaks and he feels tiredness settle over his shoulders like a well-worn cloak.

“Sleep, Lothar.” Khadgar says with a twist on his lips, voice unbearably quiet. 

After a while, despite himself, Anduin does. 

-

They ride for the most of the next morning. Noon passes them as they step into the woods that Garona, with a swift knowing step, leads them through until they reach the ravine. 

He notes the large rock structure that’s being built that must be the portal and beneath it war camps that look like a wound in the earth. He feels heat on his face just looking at it from there and there is no way he can avoid the smell of charcoal and fire and blood. Thinking that it’s just a warband makes him never want to know what a horde looks like nor what it would do if it manages to get through the portal. 

“Get them back to Stormwind.” He orders to Karos. “We’ll ride ahead.”

Anduin needs to warn Llane and he needs to convince him to send all of their troops. Though not much, they still have time and they might get there before it’s too late. Against the warband they stand a chance, against ten times as many they do not. 

Meera and he could fly ahead, but that would leave Varis on his own and the paths are too dangerous. Instead they trot through the night, pacing the horses. 

Llane takes one good look at him and calls for a meeting. Most of the delegates are already there, Anduin notes, but none seem to wish to cooperate. It’s a bitter realization to see the Alliance fall to squabbling of angry men looking after their own people and no one else. No, he knows, there will be no help from the Night Elves or from the Dwarves or any other. 

They are on their own. 

When Varis tells him of his son, it’s motive enough to leave them to their false words and false promises. 

The first priests’ healing tents are near the stables and they are used for the soldier’s most wounded or those seeking first and quick aid. There are more healing rooms inside the barracks for those who need longer to heal. He knows they are empty because he checks them first, on his way out. 

He’s glad that they’re empty. At least it tells of quick deaths if nothing else.  
Meera follows him, huffing at his worry and snarking about the meeting. 

When he finds Callan he’s alone in one of the largest tents suffering nothing bigger than a concussion. And yet, Anduin thinks, when he sees his son lying there his heart stops beating for a moment. He’d been running away from the boy most of his life and yet, now, he goes to him. He thinks that when the world is in war important things become the only thing obvious. There have a bit longer until war starts, but he knows that Callan is one of the dearest things to his heart.

“I am a soldier.” His son tells him with iron in his spine and Anduin knows that the boy had found his footing and calling. Knows, by the way he speaks, that there might yet be hope for them. The lynx at his son’s side puffs it’s chest out and Anduin laughs, lingering only so long before Meera has to catch him with her wing and tell him to love. 

 

Anduin catches sight of the mage first, his blue cloak obvious in the light of day. Next to him Garona had already dismounted, looking pinch lipped, expression stormy. She walks ahead, eyes unseeing, her daemon’s gaze trained sharply on Khadgar.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help more.” The mage is saying to Karos. “You should check in, just in case.”

“What happened there?” He says quietly, stopping the orc before she hit anything. 

She looks up, startled, and then she frowns. “I have news. I must speak to your leader.”

“And how, pray tell me, did you come by these news?” Anduin asks, seeing Karos bullied into the tent by Khadgar’s well meaning smile and hands.

“A chieftain spoke to me. To us.” She clarifies, frown back. “Khadgar was there as well.”

“I suppose he understood none of it?” Anduin prompts and then, quirking her lip, she nods. 

“Llane is in a meeting. I’ll tell him after.” Anduin sighs. “He’ll summon us when he has the time.”

“It’s urgent.” She steps forward, as if she wants to menace him into submission.

Anduin looks her square in the eyes and says, “Everything is urgent with him. He’s king. Now go.”

She starts and looks halfway to punching him before she nods and briskly walks away, shoving him in the process. It should be childish but Garona has enough grace in her to make it serious.

The mage’s voice carries from the tent to him in the silence, filled only with huffs of the horses and the stable hands. He follows it, until he’s standing right behind the man, back in the tent he’d emerged from. 

Karos is sitting on one of the cots, face twisted in a scowl. A healer, one of the straight faced, serious, no-bull women that has treated Anduin more times than he can think, is looking at his scalp and ignoring Khadgar’s presence all together. Khadgar looks relaxed, his cape draped over his hand. 

“I am fine.” Karos insists. “There is no need for this.”

“You were hit by an orc in the head.” Khadgar points out. “Aside from being a soldier you’re one of Lothar’s best and it would be horrible if you had internal hemorrhaging and couldn’t do your duty. Besides, we aren’t holding anyone up, the tent is, sans the man in the corner, quite empty!”

Brega sits patiently next to Karos’ leg and makes no move to threaten the mage and Anduin wonders if the mastiff had to listen to this for the two days it took them to get there.

“I don’t think you know exactly what a soldier means. I’m paid to get hit in the head and fight. Possibly, to death.” Karos snarks back. “There are no healers in battle, remember?”

“Don’t move.” The healer clicks her tongue. Karos’ expression is all suffering but he listens and Anduin thinks it’s because of the porcupine that sits at her feet. 

“Are you saying that you don’t want healers in battle or that you dislike them because of it?” Khadgar musses. “Because if first, it’s a generally good idea but if it’s the second then you are being quite rude considering you have your life in her hands.”

“I’m not saying either!” Karos snaps. He huffs and when he takes in a breath he grumbles, “How would you feel being prodded by magic?”

“Wonderful actually. My wounds heal quicker and my mana store gets replenished. It feels quite cleansing.” The mage says and, horrifyingly, Anduin watches the woman’s mouth twist into a subtle smile. He knows then that he has to interfere, if only to give Karos a little piece of mind.

“So you like to be prodded do you?” Anduin says, placing one hand on Khadgar’s waist to startle him. He can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his throat when Khadgar jerks, twisting to see who’d touched him.  
Anduin doesn’t expect for the tension to drain out of the mage only moments after, doesn’t expect him to settle under Anduin’s hand when he sees it’s him or for the mage to lean into his space as if drawn by Anduin.

“Lothar.” The mage says, eyes dark. Anduin feels as if he can’t breathe.

Anduin allows himself another moment, a moment too long, to linger before he drops his hand. He feels warmth reach out from his chest and seep into his hands and feet and feels it paw at his neck and ears. 

Anduin doesn’t know he’s smiling until Khadgar blinks, and then says, “And I thought you above such remarks.”

“Liar.” Anduin snorts. “I have it on good authority that you think me quite the barbarian.”

“And I have it on good authority that you think nothing of me at all.” Khadgar retorts, the jab quite serious in face of the previous humorous mood. 

“Assumptions, I see.” Anduin gives in and feels good doing it. Khadgar smiles, startled, and it's small and warm. 

“You’re free to go.” The healer says to Karos then, and gives him instructions if his health should change.

“Did you have trouble getting back?” Anduin asks Karos. 

“No. An orc got me right before we were to take off. Garona says it was a chieftain that wanted to speak with His Majesty.” Karos explains. Then he glanced at Khadgar and says, “It took a bit to get my feet under me.”  
He sees that Karos is tired, he’s known the man long enough to see the signs, and he trusts he will report before he checks out. With a great sigh of relief, and speed of a man willing to risk further injury, Karos walks out of the tent after Anduin gives him a brief nod. 

“Come on,” Anduin says to Khadgar who’s slumped his shoulders as if a sudden wave of tiredness fell over his as well. “I have some spare time before His Majesty finishes his insistent arguing.”

Khadgar looks torn between sitting down on a cot and falling asleep before his head hit the pillows and following Anduin. The small sigh tells Anduin everything and he prepares himself to be let down.

Regretfully Khadgar says, “I am tired, Lothar. I don’t have your kind of stamina.”  
Well, Anduin thinks, with a gleam in his eye that Khadgar catches and goes red for. 

“Let me walk you to your room.” Anduin says instead of commenting. 

With a crease in his brow, Khadgar contemplates it no more than a moment before he gives in.  
“Lead the way,” Anduin says smiling to Khadgar's exasperated sighs. 

Though he says lead, they fall in step next to each other, walking through corridors until they wind up in the higher levels. They pass the kitchens and steal two meals of some delegation that Anduin knows won’t be missed, or rather that he knows won’t bother the cooks for missing, and Khadgar stashes sweet rolls underneath his cape until they are far enough that he can share. 

When they reach Khadgar’s room their fingers are sticky from sugar and have crumbs in the folds of their clothes and around their mouths. 

Llane had given the mage a big room with a big bed and a well-stocked fireplace, though it seems other than the floor the mage had seen little use of it. It’s covered in papers from the floor to the bed, and some are even held up by a string. 

“Nice decour.” Anduin says, finding a stool to sit on. Meera settles herself beside him, trying not to knock anything over with her bulk. “Do you do nothing but read all day?”

Khadgar sets down his meal on the nightstand, throwing his cape and bag over the bed, before he undoes the cinch around his belt and that, too, throws on the pile. 

“I don’t see,” Khadgar says then, standing in front of his bed looking almost regal with his shoulders drawn back and almost brassy tone, the silver thread in his doublet shining in the half-light, “the problem in me doing so.”

He shoulders out of the padding and then goes to the fireplace, stacking a couple of logs before starting a fire.

Anduin narrows his eyes and says teasingly, “I have no problem. I just don’t want you going soft on us now.”

He isn’t sure if he’s pushed too far, said it too harshly. He understands that Khadgar’s intentions are good and truly, Anduin has no quarrel with him over what he does in his spare time. He has no say in it, or control over it, and he knows that Khadgar may very well find some kind of key information just because he loves to be curious and diligent.

Khadgar rolls his eyes and says, “Eat your food, commander.” Easily dispelling the sudden tension Anduin had brought up with his carelessness. This is not a Khadgar he knows, Anduin realizes, the playful, sarcastic, entitled little shit that he’d seen a glimpse of here and there. He doesn’t think Khadgar’s really had the chance to relax, not in, Kirin Tor and not after he’d run away.

After Khadgar settles himself on the floor with his back pressed into the footboard they fall easily into a conversation while they eat their supper. It’s easy to forget the duties they have, especially after Khadgar convinces him to join him on the floor with a challenge and a summoned bottle of red. 

“Why do you even know how to do that?” Anduin grumbles, surprised at how warm the floor is. 

“I was curious,” Khadgar shrugs. “And it’s easier to ply the archmages with wine than with pleas.” 

Anduin laughs, feeling light headed as he drinks from the offered wine bottle. 

“Somehow I don’t imagine such behaviour was promoted.”

“No.” Khadgar’s smile falters as he looks down into his lap. He moves his bowl to the side, food gone, and says, “It was ‘irresponsible’ use of magic.”

He frowns, as if personally offended, obviously disagreeing with that statement. It makes him look incredibly endearing. 

“Why did you run?” leaves Anduin’s mouth before he can think and stop himself. The mage obviously has great love for his talents and there is no place better for a mage than beside the Kirin Tor. Stormwind has nothing to offer him which he previously hadn’t had. 

Khadgar licks his lips before he shuffles, turning slightly to face Anduin as if what he’s going to say is just for him. Maybe it is. “Me and the Kirin Tor didn’t agree on a lot. You must understand, Lothar, there are some things-”

“That you can’t tell me, I understand Khadgar.” Anduin nods. The Kirin Tor is an order like any other with a very selective membership list. 

Khadgar looks at him as if he hadn’t expected that and then he nods, convincing himself to go on. “Like I said, it’s considered an honor to be offered and accepted. I’ve thrown that in their face and left, knowing full-well the consequences to my actions.” He stops then, as if remembering something and continues with determination,”There was nothing for me there and I couldn’t have managed another moment in the tower. I left in the night and with dawn I was well on my way out of Dalaran.”

“But you’re Guardian Novitiate,” Anduin says, remembering Medivh. “Wouldn’t they try to stop you from leaving?”

“No. Any mage good enough can become a Guardian Novitiate if he passes the initiation process.” Though he doesn’t stop talking, the downturn of his mouth and the frown in his brow tell Anduin enough to think it’s not a pleasant thing. “In so many words, they bind you to Kirin Tor; that’s how I know they won’t hunt me down. It’s bigger torture to turn me away if I ever come back than to go through the pains of retrieving an unwilling mage. They’ve got insurance, you see.”

“I suppose Medivh does keep an eye on you.” Anduin concedes. Medivh had been insistent on taking the mage with them.

There’s confusion in the mage’s eyes and it tells Anduin that he’s wrong. 

Khadgar shakes his head and says, “Well, perhaps the Guardian can tell you. I am still bound by my promises. If it helps, I don’t really consider myself Guardian material.”

Meera, who’d had her head in Anduin’s lap, shifts now lifting her head until she can press her beak into the mage’s shoulder, wanting to comfort him. She’s never wished for contact with someone who wasn’t Anduin or wasn’t a daemon. Usually daemons disliked being touched by others as much as their counterparts didn’t like them being touched.  
Anduin shivers, sensing the electricity that he’d experienced while they were in the air, and he finds himself feeling alive. He doesn’t know if it’s that, or if it’s just Khadgar, but the way he’d wanted to kiss him back in camp revives itself with a vengeance. 

Khadgar holds impossibly still until Meera stops and settles down again, and then he says, “Thank you, Meera.”

Anduin feels such a surge of adoration then that he feels his cheeks prickling with heat and his heart beating more quickly than it had ever before, overshadowing the disappointment when the sensation of electricity on his skin stops. He doesn’t realize until Khadgar catches him staring and lifts his head to look at him, not until he sees his own expression mimicked and the redness of Khadgar’s cheeks amplified by the orange fire-light, that he’d never seen something so appealing as him.

He hears a crashing noise and thinks he’d imagined it but Khadgar jerks, eyes straying from Anduin to the doors. 

Sluggishly, Anduin finds Garona standing at the doors, looking over them with a confused eyebrow before saying to Anduin, “Your King has summoned us.”

He feels something inside him harden, as if soft, magic bonds that had enveloped him with Khadgar’s intimacy had suddenly began disintegrating with Garona’s arrival. He rises, cold and shocked, as if doused with water. 

“I’ll be right there.” He says, feeling thrown off-balance and he stands with eyes on Khadgar that look startled and still as big and brown as they were the first time Anduin had seen them.

“Is he-” Anduin starts, but Garona cuts him off with a shake of her head. 

He doesn’t know if he likes the sensations running through him but he knows that once he leaves the warm comfort of Khadgar’s room he feels dented and sour, and it takes him too much time to shrug it all off. He thinks belatedly, when Garona once more bites into him in front of Llane, that she doesn’t miss a second of it.

-

There are times when Anduin smells the air and reads a situation and prepares himself for battle before it even starts. There are signs, he thinks as he pierces another orc with the point of his sword, and they sing and build tension in his muscles and tell him everything. He isn’t the only one- he knows that. Khadgar had warned them just before the ambush in the forest, and yet now no warning comes and Anduin senses nothing.

He feels, looking back, the calm before the storm with Khadgar running to him excited and perturbed, and he himself feeling warm at the simple earnestness the mage carried with him. They hadn’t had the chance to meet in the morning, since Anduin had been getting ready and helping the soldiers, but whatever he’d felt the night before seemed to carry over, mellowed but not tempered. 

Khadgar could have accused Medivh of- something, Light Anduin doesn’t even want to think it - but he hadn’t. Like all of them he believed in the Guardian, believed in his necessity and his protection. Anduin had reassured him the best he could and watched the mage run out of the barracks with lightness in his chest. 

Now, Anduin catches sight of him not running but fighting, conjuring magic and helping the soldiers take on the orcs. They are almost beating them, the soldier’s deamons rushing in and helping however they can. Meera is beside the mage, her bulk an advantage against the orcs, and Anduin sees her protecting him. He senses every time one of her swipes connects, every time she’s pushed and the distance between them grates at him, pushes him to reach her no matter what’s between them.

That’s when he sees the swarm in the distance and knows that they could not possibly hold. Llane is surrounded by a group protecting him on Anduin’s side, Callan and Liv fighting side by side- she going for the orc’s leg and he for the chest. He’d pushed Anduin away, commanded him to watch the king; Anduin doesn’t think he’d ever been prouder. But the feeling is corrupted by the helplessness that he feels coming and pushes down, trying to think ahead and get Llane out of the Pass.

Anduin wonders where Medivh is then, and wonders if the bitter feeling from that morning after Khadgar had left will confirm itself. 

He hears a cry ringing clear in the middle of many and Anduin watches, helpless, as Khadgar’s horse comes down in the first hit of the swarm. He feels electricity on his skin that has nothing to do with Khadgar and smells a storm in the air, and that’s when the first lightning crashes down from the sky, forming a barrier. 

He thinks he feels his heart stop. Meera is panicking, fending off the attackers, her wings trying to shield Khadgar from the brunt of it and Callan is right there trying to keep his own while the other soldiers try, and fail, to do the same. 

Llane and the rest of the men are already going to the hill where Medivh stands controlling his magic, and Anduin prays that he will be able to reach Callan and pull him back through the barrier.  
He doesn’t know what he’s doing, just that he need to bring his son to him, to get to him somehow even when he’s pressed to the barrier and Anduin had already tried and failed to go through. It feels almost as bad as the pulling to put his arm through the electric wall, though he thinks it’s worse just to be able to touch him and not help. He screams Medivh’s name and thinks that that, too, is a prayer. 

He sees soldiers kneeling next to him screaming, some doubling over in pain and Anduin realizes their deamon are on the other side- realizes that though they are safe they will die anyway.  
In his madness he thinks he hears a whisper of his name in the wind, a ‘Do you trust me?’ strangely in Khadgar’s voice and sees Meera flying above, battered and bruised but still whole, the mage holding onto her back looking quite the same. She’s too far away, Anduin can feel the pain of the pulling as if someone’s burning a brand inside him.

He can’t reach them and they can’t see him but Meera knows, their feelings always connected, and he thinks himself going numb just as the orc, the warchief he realizes, pierces Callan’s heart. 

There’s a flash of magic, simple white light that fades in the greyness of the storm clouds and he can’t see Meera and he can’t reach her just as he can’t reach Callan.

His prayers go on deaf ears.

For a single moment where he can only hear ringing in his ears he thinks he’s dying. He staggers back when Callan’s lifeless body hits the shield, but he only has eyes for the warchief and he promises himself, silently, that there will be no life for the orc, just death that he will deliver himself if it is the last thing he does.

The soldiers pull him away, he knows that they have no time to spare. It’s hard to leave, but his legs listen to orders and he follows them up the black rock until he reaches Llane. That’s when he sees Meera flying over them, Khadgar on her back and realizes the numbness has spread not only to his feelings but to their bond as well, and he wonders if he’s damaged beyond recognition and ability to feel her- to sense the other part of his soul. He thinks, in a wave of nausea, that a piece had already been stolen and it’s lying dead at the feet of the hill.

The moment Khadgar dismounts Meera bounds for him, she too has felt his terror and pain, and he feels her slowly flooding into his mind as if the barrier that had been put between them was dissolving. 

“It was Khadgar,” she says, trying to explain but also to feel him through her senses when not through their bond, “he saved us.”

Anduin thinks that of course the mage saved them, and it’s a bitter realization that grows unfair accusations on his tongue that Meera abides with her presence and feelings. If he only could have saved Callan.

Yet, the mage when Anduin looks up is not anywhere near but is instead kneeling with Garona at the very edge of the rock top, panicked. Medivh’s body lays motionless and for the first time, seeing his friend hurt brings no worry, brings no feelings at all.

“Take one of my birds!” He hears Llane say, his voice the only clear thing in the mess in his head. He watches as Garona and Khadgar carry Medivh’s body wrapped in Khadgar’s cloak up to one of the sturdier griffons and take off, not wasting a moment. Anduin is left standing and broken without explanations he needs and Meera tries to comfort him. 

Llane’s next words move him and the soldier in him hardens and pushes out anything that is not a command. He holds on until they arrive home before he breaks off because the sorrow bubbles over and he doesn’t need anyone to watch him try to suck in deep breaths of air while his lungs offer no compromise, unable to move as he stumbles, the haphazard stitching he’d tried to contain himself in popping.

-

He goes to Goldshire. It’s the one place he knows he won’t be kicked out of and he drinks until he can’t think, and he doesn’t think until there’s no coin in his pockets and the inn is empty and he’s lying on the bar. It’s too late in the evening for it not to be morning and he wishes he could feel the numbness that had overtaken him on the field. He still doesn’t understand it, just that Khadgar did it and that, thanks to it, he’d survived. 

Meera lays almost curled in a ball on the floor beside him, and he thinks no matter how much he could hate Khadgar and curse him out, he’d survived after all but could not save his son, he thinks he can’t. Khadgar doesn’t deserve it, not when he’d saved Anduin’s life and Meera’s. He wishes he could blame him, though, it would be easier.  
He realizes Garona is standing next to him only when he decides to open his eyes. Her first words to him are, “I’m sorry.”

“Callan’s mother died in childbirth.” He says, not knowing why. “I blamed him for it. For years.”

He thinks of Khadgar and despite it all, the drink and the blame and the sadness, he feels fondness needling through and flashing bright before it’s swallowed up again.

“I’m not going to blame Khadgar for it.” He says and feels nauseous as he finally puts his feet on the ground. He can’t keep himself up so he leans back and watches confusion and realization chase each other on Garona’s face. “And I cannot hate him; Light help me, I think I may be in love with him.”

And yet, despite his confession, she throws her strong arms around him as if holding him together when he can’t do it on his own. “He was so young,” Anduin whispers, because his voice fails him and he doesn’t know if he won’t cry out if he says it louder, knowing Garona will understand who he’s talking about. “In my entire life I’ve never felt as much pain as I do now.”

She holds him for a long time. He knows it because when he’s finally composed himself he doesn’t feel as drunk and the sun is stronger and lighting up the room. He hears noise in the upper rooms of the inn, the owner awoken, and he hears soldiers passing outside. 

“Where is he anyways?” He asks Garona, who pulls away with a wry smile. 

“He left for the Kirin Tor after we made sure your Guardian was safe. He was in a hurry.” She says.

Anduin nods. It’s understandable for the mage to wish to return to his city. He’d fought battles not his own, and had gotten hurt in the process and is - Anduin guesses - probably homesick. Though Anduin knows, and believes Khadgar had meant his words about the Kirin Tor back when they’d talked in his room, he also believes that nothing makes you yearn for your home like battle and death.

“Come on.” He says, instead of inquiring further. He doesn’t think he can bear it yet. “We should leave before the first patrons arrive.”

She nods and calls her daemon to her, which had been lying around Meera with his muzzle on her hide trying to comfort her. 

“What do we do now?” She asks. 

“I’m going to Llane. We cannot afford to lose anymore time.” Anduin says, mind finally clearing with the decision that that he’d had before the whole debacle. Attack, and swiftly, and end it all rightly.

-

There are not many things a person can do in prison. Perhaps, Anduin concedes, that’s the point. He sees the irony when he starts to beg the guard to let him out. He’d been on the other end too many times and he knows, despite his efforts, that it will go to deaf ears. He hates the determination of his soldiers in that instant; he’d taught them too well.

He doesn’t think he should be surprised - but he is - that Llane would choose to listen to Medivh rather than him (though, somewhere deep inside he knew Llane would always listen to Medivh) and he finds himself behind bars realizing he’s still drunk- drunker- than he’d thought. 

He’d thought they would go without telling him until it was too late, but that too proved to be false. Garona had come, hours later, with the words he’s dreaded since the first mention of the damn Horde, and he could do nothing but make her promise she would protect Llane in his stead. 

He doesn’t know what he feels for Garona but he knows it’s not the same as it was in the beginning. He’d found a friend in her, an equal, and she’d grabbed his attention like she’d done with all of them. But when she’d visited him she’d pulled back and he hadn’t gone the distance he should have, as if they were both leaving space for someone else. 

“Don’t go with them.” He told her anyway, he would loathe to lose someone else dear to him, knowing - at least on some level- that that was a focal point of no return. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

She had smiled then and stepped back. “You are a good man, Anduin Lothar,” she said, “and a very stupid one.”

Somehow it’d pacified him, made him sit back on his bench and say, “I should remedy that soon, then.”

“You should.” She’d said seriously, looking as if she wanted to say more but she hadn’t found the words. In the end she didn’t say anything at all but had turned, with a last glance, on her heel, leaving behind her yellow threads that caught onto the rough rock floor and stay stuck even how.

The spell, and it had been exactly that, that had calmed him had dissipated with her presence and with unrestful sleep. He’d awoken reassured in his conviction that he’ll follow after Llane one way or the other. It had been painful to contemplate Garona’s words knowing that Khadgar had returned to his tower. 

If they hadn’t had the foresight to lock Meera in with him then he would have gotten out a long time ago. She doesn’t try to stop him or calm him this time, instead she glares at the guard’s daemon as if she wants to bend it to the will of her mind.

As it is, it’s entirely reasonable to think himself drunk enough to imagine the guard turning into a sheep even though he knows he is sober. Khadgar swoops in, looking road ruffled but filled with energy, and picks up the keys the guard has dropped in his transformation. 

Once he’s closer, Anduin realizes there’s a black snake coiled around his throat.

“It just works on the slow minded. Lasts a minute.” Khadgar says entirely unapologetic. Anduin could kiss him. “Your armour, commander.”

How he’d known to pick out his armor Anduin doesn’t know but he doesn’t question it. He puts it on as quickly as he can, and for once he’s grateful he’d never taken up a squire.  
“They have a full day ahead of us.” He says, already planning on flying overhead on Meera until he’d found Llane’s campaign. “I just hope we're not too late.”

“We can't go after them. Not if you want to save Azeroth.” Khadgar says then, and Anduin turns to see the mage scribbling runes onto the stone floor that light up in blue light. The snake has eyes on him, its head turned to the side. 

“My king needs me.” Anduin insists, ignoring the questions pressing on his tongue about the animal, not expecting to have to fight over this with Khadgar and angry about it.

“Azeroth needs you more!” Khadgar says then and Anduin stops in his tracks, stops thinking, stops panicking. There is no doubt in Khadgar’s words, no fallacy. Just pure conviction and truth and Anduin knows that he should trust him. 

It’s the same man he’d seen in Lion Pride inn insisting on the Guardian’s intervention, the same man that had demanded access to a body in the barracks. Anduin realizes that his heart is not pounding because of his distress.

“If you want to save your king, we need to stop Medivh first.” Khadgar continues, once he’s seen that he has Anduin’s attention. Ancient words dance on his tongue and it seems as if he’s pulling energy from the ground, sapphire colored magic dancing in already pre-destined arcs around him. The snake shines with the color from inside and Anduin once more thinks that he’s perhaps still drunk.

There's nothing mysterious or specifically interesting that pulls Anduin to the mage. It's even more irritating considering Anduin is pulled to him regardless, by the simplicity and humanity of the man and no small amount of affections. He thinks perhaps if he survives, that Khadgar and he should talk. 

As it is, he steps into the spell circle and asks, “How’d you know about Medivh?”

“I’ve seen his eyes- he’s consumed by the fell.” Khadgar replies quickly, then looks at Lothar as if expecting to not be believed.  
But Anduin thinks that, if anyone, he can trust Khadgar to always know what to do. He’d showed him that much. 

He steps unnecessarily close and thinks- screw waiting. He pulls Khadgar to him by the lapels of his doublet, the spell twisting around them; he can feel it in his bones. 

“Do you know what I’m going to do now?” Anduin says quietly, enough for Khadgar to hear it over the magical humm.

Khadgar nods, and then as if unsure that it’s enough says, “Yes.”

“If you don’t want it, stop me.” Anduin says, unable to stop himself from placing a palm on Khadgar’s cheek. The mage leans in and Anduin thinks that if he doesn’t do it, his chest will burst. 

“Why would I-” Khadgar begins but it gets lost between their lips when Anduin leans in. It’s entirely addicting, as he’d thought it would be. He steals two kisses, three- unable to stop himself until he feels Khadgar clinging to him with one hand and sees his eyes shining and mouth red and bitten. Anduin wants him; it’s as simple as that. 

Anduin pulls away then and it’s a kick to the gut when Khadgar leans in, as if chasing his mouth, until he remembers himself. If they had the time- Anduin thinks, but stops himself; they do not. 

“Where is Medivh?” Anduin asks, realizing Khadgar is still holding the spell. It’s the one Medivh had used, when the mage had learned it Anduin doesn’t know.

With no softness and as much determination as any soldier, Khadgar says, “We’ve got a demon to kill.”

To realize it has come to that doesn’t surprise Anduin though it’s regretful. He nods, and feels the tug before he’s no-where.  
Anduin thinks he will never get used to the feeling of being in one place and opening his eyes to find himself in another. The coldness that last barely a friction between one place and the other lingers in him. The very next thing he feels is magic gripping him and sees Medivh, if there’s any of his old friend left in the old and corrupt body. He doesn’t look like anything Anduin had seen before.

He thinks it’s one thing to feel your breastplate crushed by a hammer and another to feel it grind against your body when pressed like the demon is doing to him now. Then, just as it’s reached the point of grinding against bones, the magic stops and Anduin falls onto the marble floor. 

He sees Khadgar standing at the bottom of the steps looking frustrated. Anduin takes a moment to breathe before removing his plate armor; it’s no use to him, not here where he expect to be dodging spells. 

At the top of the Karazhan tower there’s not much room for hiding. The pillars are unreachable, a possessed Medivh between them and the second floor, and so the golem is the only other choice. 

Meera is already ahead. She knows that she could be a liability however much the bond strengthens when they are in battle. Medivh could use her against him and they can’t afford that.

For the first time Anduin wonders where Medivh’s own daemon is, wonders, belatedly, if it had even been there all the times he’d seen him. 

He voices his concern once Khadgar manages to catch onto the idea and comes to hide behind the golem. The snake is not a snake anymore but a black spider that fits comfortably on Khadgar’s shoulder, bigger than Anduin’s two open palms put together.  
“Is that-” Anduin starts but Khagar, looking over his shoulder and not paying attention cuts him off. 

“The Fell doesn’t just corrupt the body it also corrupts the soul. When I went to the Room of Holding Medivh’s daemon was covered in green and black and looking horribly sick. Dis didn’t want to come near her.” Khadgar explains, as if it makes full sense of what he’s saying.  
Anduin thinks back to his childhood and to the raven that had always danced and filtered through the air around Medivh as if already settled on what she wanted to be even when so young.

“I think you’re forgetting,” The spider says in a disjointed, deep voice, creeping down Khadgar’s arm softly until she’s in his lap, “that the man has no idea what you’re saying.”

Khadgar finally turns then and says only a bit embarrassed, “Right. Lothar, Meera, this is Dis, my daemon. Dis-- you know.”

He looks like he’s going to say more but then he turns sharply and watching Medivh says, “He’s started a spell chant- it must be for the portal.”

“Shall we?” Dis says and there’s a moment, Anduin thinks, in which Khadgar hesitates before he nods. There’s a quick order on his tongue though Anduin doesn’t understand what he says, just that his eyes shine blue and his magic explodes with more power than it had before. 

Medivh stops chanting and says, “Impressive.” At best it’s mocking, and when the golem starts moving Anduin thinks that they have to come to a plan if they want to stop Medivh and help Llane. 

“Do something!” He yells at Khadgar who shrugs in a ‘what could I possibly do?’ manner that makes Anduin groan. 

“Come on,” Dis tells Anduin, briefly looking like a silver thread dancing above the air of Khadgar’s head, until her form settles into a large lamb vulture.

Khadgar follows swiftly and the next spell he fires at Medivh leaves the air hot and buzzing. 

Anduin hasn’t the time to look after Khadgar, however much he wants to. It’s really more luck than anything else that he isn’t leveled with the ground after the golem chases him around Karazhan while chanting the spell Khadgar had mentioned before. 

He sees yellow and blue spells from the corner of his eyes and feels magic well up in the air, can almost taste it on his tongue. Dis’ chest shines blue until Anduin hears a crash and she shrieks just in the same moment Anduin feels cold air against the back of his neck and realizes he’s hanging from the top of the tower. If he falls, he realizes, it’s certain death, and he decides he must be drunk after all if that doesn’t disturb him as much as it kicks him into action. 

“Anduin!” He hears Meera the moment he has his footing on the broken granite.

She’s by Khadgar’s unmoving body with one big paw over his chest, shaking him. Whatever shape Dis takes up next Anduin doesn’t know because he’s there, eyes on Khadgar, shaking him awake. 

“I have a plan.” Khadgar tells him only moments later and if it were anybody else, he thinks, anyone else he would tell them to shut up and follow his lead. “Distract Medivh.”

Khadgar turns to his daemon that looks as if she’s leaning against Meera’s front paws. “Alright?”

She nods and in another moment she’s a koel. 

“When we have the time,” Anduin tells Khadgar, “you will explain this.”

Irritably, Khadgar laughs, that tugs onto some hidden reserve of humour in Anduin, and he thinks it’s probably the thought that they are heavily outmatched and soon dead that makes Anduin laugh as well. 

“Of course, commander,” Khadgar says, standing up. “Now do as I said.”

It really is the easiest thing to do it once he has a plan in his head. “Stay there, please.” He says to Meera, who glares at him.

“Be careful, Anduin. I just met her, I will hate you forever if you go and die on me.” She says, but stays in her place next to the gaping hole in the wall, unmoving. 

Anduin nods seriously before he bounds up the stairs to Medivh. Meera had been waiting, Anduin thinks, for a while to meet Dis. He had been waiting as well. 

Medivh is not even a shadow of himself, Anduin can barely recognize him. His eyes are distant and occupied by the magic he’s using, corrupted to the very bone. A demon, Anduin reminds himself. 

Distracting him is harder than Khadgar had made him believe. He feels the granite under his cheek and wonders if he’d broken anything in his face after flying over the green font. He scrambles to his feet quickly and wonders exactly what the plan is once Medivh’s image dissipates into a foul twisted being that feed on the foul energies he’s standing in. 

“Khadgar!” Anduin calls. He remembers he has no sword, and worse, that it wouldn’t help in this situation. “Now!”

It sounds like a thunderclap when a blue circle appears over Medivh’s head and the golem falls on him, spilling the green over the sides as if it’s water. Anduin dodges contact and sees Khadgar kneeling in it. Meera bounds to him as if let off a leash but she stops when she sees Dis has turned small, her disturbed screeching signaling to them that something is wrong.

Quickly Anduin offers his hand but then Khadgar’s eyes turn green before he’s consumed by the fel. Beneath the golem the demon tries to claw for his freedom, and Anduin feels the helplessness seize him the same way he’d felt it barely three days past. He pulls back with a horrifying thought that if Khadgar fails to fight the fell, he will have to kill him anyway he can. 

Khadgar lifts his hand and he thinks that Khadgar will fire a spell at him, and he brings his hands up to protect himself but- Anduin realizes a moment later when his vision becomes distorted blue- that he’d put up a shield around him instead. 

He watches Khadgar turn to the demon and place a hand on his head, and watches Dis’ black form shine blue. 

Anduin wants to yell, wants to drag the mage out of the font, want to do anything but watch- helpless- as he turns into another abomination. Belatedly he wishes he’d gone after Llane after all, but he knows that it would not have stopped Khadgar from following his gut. “You’re stronger than he is.” He says instead. 

The demon’s groans chill him to the bone while he watches Khadgar stand and look to the sky. Anduin can’t even comprehend what the mage is going through, but Anduin knows that he is fighting the fel’s influence, struggling to hold it off.  
He murmurs something that Anduin can’t understand, and then from his form pale golden light spills out in a flash so bright that Anduin has to cover his eyes and stagger back into Meera’s side.

The silence that follows leaves ringing in his ears but not that, nor the sudden fear that he feels, stop him from running to Khadgar. He looks fatigued, drained almost, and Anduin wants to believe he’s succeeded. 

“Come on.” He says, shakily placing a hand on Khadgar’s shoulder. “Show me your eyes.”

Dread pools in Anduin’s stomach but when his eyes meet Khadgar’s blessedly, ordinarily brown Anduin feels the relief washing over him like a particularly potent health potion.

“I’m proud of you.” He says, though it doesn’t convey half the feelings that run through him. 

Khadgar smiles though, his hair sweat-damp and skin warm and Anduin thinks he understands anyways. 

Anduin stands. Now that Medivh is defeated, he can go and help Llane. Meera knows already, she’s always known ahead of time what his decision will be, and she runs to the window in front of him. He manages to grab his sword that lays, thankfully, not broken on the ruined floor. 

Just before he reaches the opening he hears, “Anduin!” and it stops him dead in his tracks. He turns to see Khadgar struggling to get his feet under him, though with a giant wolf at his back he manages anyways. 

Anduin’s impatient and he feels it bubbling in his belly though it becomes clear what Khadgar wants once he looks at him. He doesn’t know that he’s moving until he’s in front of the mage and Khadgar’s pulling him closer, pulling him in and their lips connect once more. 

It should be corny, and he should think it a waste of time, but instead he feels his chest burst with warmth and he pulls the mage into him with hands on his waist. 

“Light,” Anduin whispers under his breath feeling Khadgar’s lashes flutter against his cheek before he’s pulled into another kiss. 

Anduin pulls away slowly, though they are still wrapped up in one another, Khadgar’s fingers playing a soft tune in Anduin’s hair. He wants to feel them there, always, and he wants for all of this to blow over so he could have the mage in his bed and safe. 

“I wanted to do that for a while now.” Khadgar confesses softly, a smile playing with a soft dusting flush on his cheeks. Anduin kisses his smile away just to be sure before he steps away. 

“I will come back.” Anduin promises, and Khadgar nods. It’s always so simple with him, no lies, no deceptions. He thinks Khadgar believes in him as much as Andion believes in the mage. 

Both of them have words on their tongue, a goodbye, a farewell. But Anduin doesn’t wish to think he will die; not after this. 

Khadgar says, “Go” and Anduin runs, feeling alive once cold air hits his cheeks and feels Meera’s soft feathers under his hands as they ride for the king.

-

He is too late.  
Garona is gone.  
The king is dead. 

It’s a mantra that repeats inside his head through the match against the warchief, while he’s riding back on Meera, until he’s standing in the Stormwind keep feeling empty. He hands Llane’s body over to the healers though they can't do anything for him now. 

He should talk to his sister. Instead, a coward, he feels his legs crumple under him until he’s sitting inside the healing tent, elbows on his knees, just breathing. This time it’s not difficult. He feels ever worse for it. 

Anduin doesn’t know how long he stays that way, only that he feels an unwelcome, firm touch to his shoulder and when he looks up it’s one of the healers, the one that had treated Karos, holding a dagger for him to take. 

“It was embedded in the back of the King’s neck.” She adds, to clarify. She doesn’t look particularly grief stricken but Anduin suspects it’s in the terms of the profession to not show anything on her face at all. 

Anduin stands and takes the dagger. Taria had given it to Garona as a show of faith; Garona had been nothing if not her knight, her champion. But Anduin is too late, Garona’s gone, and the King is dead.

He wonders if there is anyone else that might wish to betray him. He hadn’t expected it of Garona, not really, but perhaps if he’d had less trust in her he might have not felt so miserable about it. He hates her, for making his family trust her and betraying them all. 

He realizes where he’s heading only when Meera nudges him and says, “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

Anduin is not the best company now, he realizes but his choice is made when he sees Khadgar’s doors open. He stops at the threshold and watches the mage flitter around the room, Dis a hummingbird chasing after him with a similar steady energy. Khadgar had promised to tell him about it, but Anduin doesn’t want that now. When the mage stops and turns his head, realizing Anduin’s there, and looks at him, Anduin realizes he’s come there for comfort and he would feel ashamed if he didn’t feel some of the bitterness in him give way at the sight of the mage. 

”Lothar,” Khadgar says and it’s a soft exhale that reels Anduin in. He also remembers telling himself that if the two of them were to survive that he should talk with Khadgar. But that will have to wait, the same way Taria waits for him. Belatedly, he realizes they must have sent word to her the moment Llane’s body had touched the healers’ cots.

He doesn’t know what to do now that he’s there, doesn’t know how to tell Khadgar he needs his company and to hide for a little while, and needs his soft hands and presence. Instead he lays down the dagger on Khadgar’s table and, words failing him, instead sits down on a stool. 

“Garona’s dagger.” Khadgar notes with a frown, examining it immediately.

“They pulled that from Llane’s neck.” Anduin says. Quite a small thing, Anduin notes, to end the King.

“Well, there has to be an explanation.” Khadgar says immediately. 

“Yes. She made her choice.” It’s the first time the thoughts had formed themselves in something that wasn’t betrayal but now that Anduin gives them space in reality they are quite clear. Garona had chosen. She had always chosen; Anduin doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before.

Undeterred, Khadgar says, “I don’t believe that.” 

“Maybe you and I didn’t know her as well as we thought we did.” Anduin says instead and watches as Khadgar turns thoughtful and puts down the dagger. The quickening of his heartbeat cannot be a fault when the mage walks to him, Anduin the only thing occupying his attention. 

“I cannot make you believe in the same way you cannot make me disbelieve. If she had planned on killing the King from the beginning, or if she’d had any other similar thought during her stay here, you would have known.” Khadgar says. Anduin sighs shakily, finally feeling the onslaught of emotions that he hadn’t had the power to process through until now, and he looks down, unsure if he can keep it all from showing on his face. Khadgar is standing so close that Anduin’s forehead touches his belly but it seems that the mage doesn’t mind when he places his palm on the back of Anduin’s neck, grounding him. 

“I believe,” Khadgar continues, a bit softer but with no less conviction, “that there is what you saw and there is what she saw, and that truth lies somewhere in between. The King wouldn’t have had her ride with him, and you wouldn’t have trusted her, had she been undeserving.”

Anduin sees the fingers of Khadgar’s other hand absolutely still and so he takes them into his hand, twines them together. Khadgar doesn’t stop him, instead allows the touch and allows Anduin’s presence and when Anduin doesn’t know what to say to that, gives him the silence as well. 

Anduin feels the minutes stretch, and when he looks up the time has barely moved and he feels exhausted. 

“How can you always believe in people so much?” He asks. Medivh had betrayed them and Garona, and the alliance had failed them.

“Because,” Khadgar starts winded but then exhales. “Because,” He starts again, softer, “It would ruin me not to. People are still good, Anduin, you should not lose hope in all of us.”

The earnestness in Khadgar's words and the absolute seriousness that he always wields in moments like this make Anduin believe him, but also make him feel a fool. He snorts and Khadgar’s expression must fall because he drops his hand from Anduin’s hair and tries to move away. Anduin holds him by the hand and stands quickly, not wanting to separate from the mage quite so soon, and not wanting to give the impression that the Khadgar’s words didn’t mean anything. 

Khadgar looks cross, Anduin sees it, but he can’t help but be thankful for the moment of levity before he goes back to the reality that isn’t at all quite so pleasant as having Khadgar in his arms. 

“Thank you.” He says, and then just to be sure, drops the smile and with as much earnestness as he has in his being looks at Khadgar in the eyes and says, “Thank you.”

“I don’t have as much faith in her as you do.” He says, refusing to let go though Khadgar doesn’t seem to mind, with one hand on Anduin’s hip and the other one still clenched between Anduin’s fingers. “I don’t think I can.”

There is something broken inside him, he understands that, and he wishes he could say it without it sounding quite so sappy as it does. But he thinks he doesn’t need to, Khadgar knows in the way that he’s spoken Anduin’s language before, and he says, “There is nothing to it then. We find Garona, we hear her out. The Horde won’t go away, and so won’t she.”

It’s a plan, Anduin thinks. Khadgar always has a plan for everything. 

“Can I kiss you?” Anduin asks, and watches as Khadgar’s mouth falls open and the slightest tint of pink starts at his cheeks. He wants to bolden the color, he thinks, wants to follow it under the insufferable neckline. 

Khadgar blinks and then says, “yes,” before he himself leans in half-way. 

Anduin thinks he could never possibly grow tired of the thrill that courses through him every time they kiss. He feels Khadgar’s hand on his cheek though he holds the other, still, not wanting to let go. 

When he pulls away he’s kiss-drunk and he asks, a little broken, “Can I have another?”

The laugh that he can feel vibrating in Khadgar’s chest is a novelty, and he packs it away for safekeeping. 

-

Afterwards Khadgar had made him go to Taria, and after he’d returned had kicked the doors closed and let Anduin sleep it off. He’d awoken hours later in the middle of the night and the bed had been empty, as always, and Khadgar had been sitting at the foot of it looking at one of his notebook but not writing anything down. 

Anduin coerced him into the bed, though it hadn’t taken at all as much effort as Anduin had expected, and they’d had fallen asleep in moments.

Anduin wakes the next morning warm and feeling softness against him and once he opens his eyes and sees Khadgar curled on his side he thinks that the day could have started much, much worse. 

He wakes Khadgar up with soft kisses against his cheek and neck and doesn’t realize quite how late it is until he hears soldiers passing in front of the doors. 

“You have duties,” Khadgar says, looking sleep ruffled and soft.

“Yes.” Anduin says, and kisses him.

-

Taria in the end has to officially summon him before he decides to leave Khadgar’s room. It’s laborious, but when he meets his sister he doesn’t feel quite so haphazardly patched as he’d felt before. Really, in Llane’s wake the world is more simple. They plan the funeral and Taria plans her speech, but in the end it’s Anduin that takes the sword that promises their people, promises all of them really, safety, protection, and revenge. 

For the Alliance echoes through his bones, and he thinks that, if anything, the world has just started revolving. 

 

-

**Author's Note:**

> For those into symbolism:  
> Spider is a symbol of mystery, power and growth.  
> Wheel is the Wheel of Fortune tarot card which represents, among other things, a turning point and movement.
> 
> Take that as you will.


End file.
